Green and yellow reeds sway beside the pond,
broken by a few poplars and willows
and the counter-swaying of snakes or weasels
patrolling.
The pond is wide and blue, like a mountain gem
and on its surface glides a swan.
Just the one.
She is large, even for a swan, with white plumage
a long black neck, and a bright red oval
on her breast.
According to legend, she is probably
a cursed princess, or a young maiden,
transformed by a terrible loss.
Swans attract these legends, wear each one
like a gossamer shroud, shimmering in the moon,
like the weight of quiet years, swimming.
The red spot directly over her heart
seems like a perfect hunter's target.
Though hunters may have found the pond
from time to time, she remains.
Once in a while, she sings.